


Galatea

by Purna



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M, Robot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-09
Updated: 2008-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 08:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purna/pseuds/Purna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident on the <i>Apollo</i> reunites the team with an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Galatea

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://lamardeuse.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lamardeuse.livejournal.com/)**lamardeuse** for the swift beta. Also thanks to everyone who read this as it was posted as a WIP. That version was a first draft of what's posted here. During the editing, some changes were made to previously posted material, including a few scenes added or expanded on.
> 
> This story was inspired by the episode "Be All My Sins Remembered," and contains major spoilers for that episode. It assumes the season-ending cliffhanger has been resolved, but contains spoilers only through "Outcast."

"Next jump on my mark." Rodney's voice is a cracked whisper, rough, barely audible, but it jerks John from his stupor.

He takes a deep breath, blinking away fatigue to bring the _Apollo_'s bridge into focus. Colonel Ellis has barely moved from his station since the accident over sixty hours ago. He's too still and eerily silent, his face drawn, the skin stretched tight over his skull.

An accident, nobody to blame, but it had happened under Ellis' watch. A black hole yanked them out of hyperspace, violently enough to practically crack the ship in two. The fact that the singularity was unmarked on any of the Ancient charts is yet another reminder of their fallibility in John's mind.

There was nothing Ellis could have done differently, but it doesn't change the fact that nineteen members of his crew are dead, his ship crippled. The burden of his guilt is crushing him.

Rodney's hunched over the navigation console, ousting the crewman stationed there. He's been bouncing between the bridge and engineering this whole time, mouth going as fast as his brain. It's been nonstop, patching hull plating, splicing wiring, nursing the hyperspace engines along as best as he can, but John wonders how long he can keep it up. His eyes are too bright, darkly bruised underneath, and his right arm is cradled against his chest as he awkwardly types in commands with his left hand.

The ache in John's ribs flares up, and he can't breathe for a second. He did something to his side when the accident slammed him into a bulkhead, but nobody is in great shape. What's left of the crew is stretched to the breaking point, too much death, too much work to do, too afraid to sleep.

"Mark," Rodney says, and the shift to hyperspace is the roughest one yet, rattling John's teeth. He feels it in his bones, an ache like the arthritis that practically crippled him when the Wraith drained him to the point of death.

John holds his breath. The engines fail as often as not, dropping them back into real space, but so far, so good.

"How much more of this?" Teyla says, her voice drugged with fatigue. Her forehead is marred by pinprick burns from taking her turn at welding, and John tries not to wonder if they're going to turn her son into an orphan before his first birthday.

_I talked her into coming back too soon_, he thinks, not for the first time, but even he can recognize that it's pure gut, not logic, and he's glad he never bothered to voice his misgivings. Teyla had enough guilt of her own to deal with, and Carter would have probably kicked him out of her office.

Rodney doesn't take her question as rhetorical. "Based on our current progress?" His shoulders slump, his breath huffing out in a weary sigh. "Two weeks, minimum. Maybe as much as a month."

"We don't have a month, Dr. McKay. We're still losing atmosphere." Ellis sounds bleak, not snide, but Rodney's chin goes up anyway.

"Well, I'm sorry. We patched her up as best we could."

"He's not blaming you, Rodney," John says softly, because Rodney's been killing himself to buy them time, coaxing the impossible out of the damaged ship, and Ellis may be kind of a tool but he isn't stupid.

He knows there's little hope of rescue otherwise. Even if the _Daedalus_ could arrive in time, there's no guarantee the same thing won't happen to her as well.

They manage only ten minutes in hyperspace this time before the engines sputter out. When John feels the jolt, he tries not to groan. He doesn't need to see Rodney's pinched expression to figure out that the engines are getting worse, that the race against time is one they're losing.

Over the next few hours, Rodney coaxes three more jumps out of the _Apollo_, short hops really, none lasting more than half an hour. The time he spends tinkering with the engines before each jump is getting longer and longer.

Meanwhile, Ellis' chief engineer delivers more bad news: the patches to the hull aren't holding, the air leaks are getting worse. John takes a shift of welding with Ronon and Teyla, and afterwards, Ronon smacks him on the shoulder.

"Ow, big guy," John mumbles, but Ronon ignores him.

"Sheppard," Ronon says and then takes a breath. "John," he adds, which makes John blink. "Whatever happens." Ronon shrugs, a rueful smirk crossing his face. "Glad I met you."

Teyla's hand, small but strong, grips his. "As am I," she says. "The both of you, and Rodney, as well." Teyla's never seemed ruffled, even facing death, and it's no different now.

"Don't try to talk to Rodney about this right now," John warns, and Teyla raises an eyebrow at him.

"I would not. He would take it as a vote of no confidence."

John relaxes. They're team, they're Teyla and Ronon; they know Rodney's quirks as well as he does. He looks at them, meeting their eyes in turn. Then he has to duck his head and clear his throat. "You know. Same here," he says to the deck.

He's opening his mouth to try to say something less lame when his radio saves him. It's Ellis, his voice tense, calling them back to the bridge.

Everyone's strangely frozen when they return to the command deck. Rodney's already there, shoulders hunched. His eyes are wide and panicky when he glances back at them, and something like guilt flickers over his face as his eyes meet John's.

"What?" John blurts, and Rodney points at the screen.

_We're being hailed,_ John thinks with a sense of relief so profound it's dizzying. And then he realizes who--or what, rather, the screen is displaying, and it's like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath away.

"Not possible," he breathes, and Rodney shoots him a desperate glance, his face positively green, this close to puking.

Lazarus back from the dead, it's a smiling, silent Fran, her head tilted to one side.

John's upper lip pulls tight, and he knows he's not controlling his expression well, but it doesn't matter. She has eyes only for Rodney, her expression too intense, like a lover or a predator, hungry, needy.

That's disturbing enough, but she's creepy in so many ways beyond that. Her eyes are unblinking, her features too smooth and symmetrical to ever look truly human. Rodney _made_ that, he thinks with a shudder, a weapon in the shape of a woman. A Replicator. Enemy.

When she finally speaks, it's to Rodney alone, ignoring everyone else on the bridge. "Father," she says, and now John feels like puking, too. "You've returned to us. This is a joyous occasion."

Rodney's mouth opens and closes, wordless for once in his life.

John hears his own voice fill the silence. "Oh, crap."

***

"So if we can just stabilize the structural damage and get a handle on the hull integrity issue..." Rodney falters. His good arm, which he's been using to gesture wildly around engineering, drops to his side.

The _Apollo_'s engineering crew is not even pretending to work now, their tools and tablets set aside. They're listening intently, leaning towards the large group who've invaded their section. It's an odd mix: bridge crew, a security detail, John's team. And a Replicator.

Rodney's spiel has inspired a nod here and there from the chief engineer, and now she's shooting sideways glances at Fran, looking hopeful and wary at the same.

But Fran is shaking her head. "We scanned your ship very carefully. The damage is just too severe, Dr. McKay."

At least she's using Rodney's name now, thank god. John doesn't think Rodney said anything about the _father_ business, but Fran must have noticed his unmistakable flinch every time she used the word.

_After all, she's programmed to adapt_, John thinks a little queasily.

"You are welcome to evacuate to our ship, however," she adds, and John really hopes he's imagining the flirtatious lilt in her voice.

_Oh, hell, no._ He's not alone in his instant rejection of the idea, judging from Ellis' scowl, Rodney's sputtering protests, and the impassive masks that Teyla and Ronon are wearing.

"How did you survive anyway, Fran? The whole planet was molten at the end." Ellis turns the name Rodney gave her into a sneer. Apparently if she can't or won't help him fix his ship, he's over the diplomacy thing.

She looks at him coolly. "We're very difficult to kill, as you're aware."

It's not really an answer, and John narrows his eyes at her. Her only response is a guileless smile, and then she continues, "Stubborn, I suppose, especially this particular engram." Her attention goes back to Rodney, and her smile widens. "A reflection of our maker, I like to imagine."

John can hear Ellis snort in disgust. Rodney tries to smile back at her but fails miserably. Fran's expression slips a little when she takes in his frozen grimace, but she recovers after a pause.

"I would not linger, Dr. McKay. Your ship is falling apart as we speak."

Nobody's ready to leave the _Apollo_ yet, but it's obvious that Fran's assessment is correct. It keeps getting colder, and the air is getting thinner, and soon their time is up. If they stay, they die, and that's no choice at all.

John and his team are among the last to leave. They hang back on the bridge with Colonel Ellis and his first officer, who looks like he's either going to punch someone or break into tears.

"She was a good ship," the first officer says quietly to Ellis, and John realizes they're intruding.

"We'll, uh, head over," he says, jerking his head towards the door. Rodney touches one of the consoles sadly on the way out.

"Did your best, McKay," Ronon says. He reaches over to give Rodney a couple of pats on the back, gentle and clumsy, which at least gives John permission to grip Rodney's shoulder for a second.

Rodney doesn't say anything, just makes an unhappy little sound and hugs his bad arm more tightly to his chest.

Teyla takes the lead as they walk through the airlock, her back straight and her head held high.

Fran's ship is Aurora-class, large enough for their entire crew and then some. John wonders how she's been handling it all by herself, because except for the _Apollo_'s crew, the ship seems deserted.

The lighting here is much dimmer than it had been on the _Aurora_, the shadows almost palpable. There's a strange smell, like must and ozone, stale, nothing like the recycled taste of the _Apollo_'s air supply. He doesn't think Fran actually needs air, so maybe she's been getting things ready for them.

Or maybe it's always like this, and she wanders around her ship pretending to breathe, pretending to be human.

He shudders. It's an image that he really wants out of his head, pronto. His bad feeling has been building since the accident, but now it's threatening to go through the roof.

Teyla and Ronon sense something, too, falling into defensive positions without seeming to think about it. Rodney's looking white around the eyes, spooked as a racehorse.

A flicker of motion teases the edge of John's vision. He nearly jumps out of his skin before he realizes it's Ellis and his first officer, coming up behind them. _Settle down_, he tells himself, because if he loses it, Rodney won't be far behind.

He'll be damned if he's going to be intimidated by shadows, when who knows what sorts of genuine dangers might be around them. It's a big ship, a lot of space to worry about, and he vows to do a little exploring.

They make their way onto the bridge, where Fran comes forward to greet them. "Dr. McKay." She moves to Rodney's side. "Welcome aboard."

"That's his bad arm," John snaps when her hand reaches out for Rodney's shoulder, and she rests her unblinking gaze on him for a disconcerting few seconds.

"I did not realize our maker was injured. It would be no trouble to heal you, Dr. McKay," she says. There's an eagerness in her voice that John doesn't like at all. And he's been hanging around Rodney way too long, because he's picturing nanites in all kinds of disturbingly intimate places.

Rodney seems just as wary. He edges away from her, into John's space. They're close enough that John can feel his warmth, and that's one comforting thing in all this.

"No, no, no," Rodney practically stutters. "That's quite all right. It's nothing; I'm fine."

"We're all good here," John says, going for an easy drawl that ends up ringing a little false. "No worries."

Ronon's moved forward to flank Rodney's other side, doing that thing where he somehow manages to look even bigger than normal. And it's not something John's ever mentioned to Ronon, but it always makes him think of the barbeque planet lizards, the ones that puff up to twice their normal size, and spit, too, which, gross, but they're mighty tasty after a few hours over coals.

_Focus, John._

"He doesn't need your help," Ronon's saying. "If he was really hurt, you wouldn't get him to shut up about it."

"Hey," Rodney protests, but subsides when John elbows him.

Fran tilts her head. She looks thoughtful, her eyes darting over the three of them, and John has the sudden urge to shove Rodney behind him.

The moment passes, and Fran nods. "Very well. I'll show you where you'll be staying."

***

A few days of settling in, and John and Teyla have found nothing in their explorations. Ellis has been busy shoring up his crew's morale, and giving Fran and the Atlantis team glowering looks.

Rodney spends every hour he can up on the bridge, trying to get a crack at the ship's systems. Ronon stays close, looking menacing.

It's the end of another fruitless shift of deserted, spooky corridors. Teyla's looking worn and discouraged, and John's ribs hurt like a bitch, and it's time to pack it in. They head back to their quarters after rounding up Rodney, who's surprisingly easy to pry away from the bridge this time.

They're bunking up in one cabin, not willing to split the team. John maneuvers Rodney onto one of the bunks, trying to get a look at his bad arm, but Rodney bats him away impatiently.

"We're going the wrong way," Rodney whispers urgently.

"What?" John says, still trying to tug Rodney's jacket off.

"Quit it, that hurts," Rodney says, shrugging off John's hands. "Fran let me lay in the hyperspace course, but it was just for show. This ship is headed in the wrong direction."

Teyla's settled on her bunk to meditate, but she opens her eyes at Rodney's words. "Rodney, are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. Genius, remember?" Rodney scrubs a hand through his hair. "I finally managed to hack into the navigation computer. The destination coordinates are nowhere near Atlantis."

"Wondered why you got so jumpy in there," Ronon says, looking up from sharpening one of his knives.

"Well, I was trying not to blurt out my discovery to the enemy, while theatrically clutching my chest," Rodney says, rolling his eyes.

"You're kinda weird sometimes, McKay," Ronon says.

Teyla blows out a loud sigh. "Could we focus, please? Rodney, if you were able to access the navigation system..."

Rodney's shaking his head. "Already tried to set a course for home, no go. I can see the coordinates, but I can't alter them."

"What _is_ her plan for us?" Teyla sounds thoughtful, and it's not really a question. "Where are we headed, Rodney?"

Rodney shrugs. "Spitting distance to an O-type binary that'd I'd kill to get a closer look at."

"Rodney," John says, causing Rodney to stop and take a deep breath.

"Nowhere special, near as I can tell," he says. "There's nothing interesting listed in the database, anyway."

"We take her out. Then we worry about turning the ship around." Trust Ronon to cut to the heart of things.

Rodney waves his good hand in the air. "Excellent thinking, Wadsworth. And how are we supposed to do that?"

Ronon shrugs. "You'll think of something. You always do, remember?"

"Oh, thank you."

They brainstorm unproductively for a while. Rodney sighs when John brings Ellis in on the conversation, but it only makes sense to keep the man in the loop.

"Dr. McKay, you created her," Ellis says, holding up a hand when Rodney opens his mouth. "I'm just saying that if she has a weakness, you're the one to know what it is."

"She likes you," John hears himself say, and the eyes of everyone in the room are suddenly trained on him.

"What?" Rodney sounds genuinely bewildered. "She's a program. She has no emotions."

"No, she likes you," John insists. "She called you 'Father.' When you're around, she..."

"Glows," Teyla finishes for him.

Ellis lets out a stifled snort. "So how about you use your god-like influence to get her to turn this bucket around?"

"It's at least worth a try," Teyla says.

"Yeah, charm her," John says. Then he realizes exactly who he's talking to and thinks, _We're doomed._

***

When Rodney heads up to the bridge the next day, John follows. It was John's idea, after all, so he figures he might as well keep an eye on things. He stays in the background, watching, and it's just as awkward as he might have predicted. Rodney's all nerves and too talkative, but Fran doesn't seem to notice, responding immediately to his attentions.

Calling it "charm" is too much of a stretch, really, since Rodney views praising Fran's programming skill as a high compliment. But considering that Rodney's last romantic pursuit had ended in a city-wide emergency, a botched marriage proposal, and a hangover lasting for days--"She wants to be friends," Rodney'd said afterwards, and they'd shared winces and an entire jug of ruus wine--John decides he's doing his best.

Rodney's learned a few things since Cadman played backseat driver on that first date with Katie. At least he's managed to tone down the whole Forrest Gump thing. But John's always figured that Rodney was raised either by wolves or cutthroat academics with the people skills of Marvin the Martian, and that's a lot to shake off. Rome wasn't built in a day, and Rodney's still socially retarded enough that it's a good thing it's a robot he's courting.

Which seriously gives John the creeps, because Fran likes to stand too close to Rodney, close enough that their shoulders touch, and Rodney can't afford to move away.

"Your hair is very shiny," he says stiffly, and Fran beams. Rodney's smile looks frozen, and John has to clench his teeth.

When Fran grants Rodney more computer time and greater access to the ship's systems, John celebrates with the rest of the team back in their quarters. But there's a sour taste in his mouth that won't go away.

He tells himself to get over it. Rodney's making progress, making Fran happy, but somehow that just makes it worse. Fran's happiness transforms her, makes her seem almost human, and John keeps getting ambushed by unwanted flashes of sympathy. _She's not real,_ he reminds himself savagely.

After a few days, Rodney manages to buy John a test drive of the captain's chair, and John has to admit he's got high hopes. His ATA gene is something he's always tried not to take for granted. Luck and random genetic chance combined to give him Atlantis. It's the closest thing to home and family he's ever known, and that's more important to him than he ever thought possible.

But he's kind of gotten used to Ancient tech doing his bidding with barely a thought, and he can't help imagining taking control, swooping them all back home in triumph.

Under Fran's watchful eye, John eases down into the familiarity of the Ancient interface. He glances over at Rodney, who returns a subtle nod. John waits to see Rodney touch Fran's shoulder, the gesture morphing into a more intimate caress of her cheek. Their closeness doesn't look awkward at all, and John's stomach lurches.

He closes his eyes until his stomach settles. When he opens them, he sees that Rodney's steered Fran away from the captain's station, the distraction complete. He suppresses the thought that he's pimping out his best friend and lets himself sink into the sense of the ship.

The familiar rush of potential, of power, floods through him, and the sigh of relief escapes him before he can stop himself. The hours and days of impotent frustration after the accident have taken a much harder toll than he ever expected. It's good to have control of _something_ finally.

The ship's all around him, a humming presence of interlocking systems and subsystems, so close he can taste it. He sorts out life support first, testing the waters. A feeling of wellbeing washes over him, everything in the green, good to go.

Next is weapons, where the picture is not so rosy. A sense of emptiness fills him, and he finds himself poking at the gap in the interface like a loose tooth. It feels abandoned, almost dusty, and he knows Fran's ship launched its last drone thousands of years ago. She's defenseless, and by extension so are they.

A sense of uneasiness takes hold, something he can't shake after that. It only gets worse when he moves on to navigation. A map of their hyperspace coordinates takes shape in his head, glowing so brightly he has to stifle the urge to project it for everyone to see. He tries to influence the map, _reset, stop_, but his commands slide off like rain on a newly waxed car.

The sense of wrongness grows. He focuses on the map, willing the hyperspace coordinates to change. The mental dot doesn't budge, and he pushes harder and harder still. There's a point when the entire mental construct--the map, the comforting hum of the ship, the minor notes of each subsystem--winks out of existence. He's trapped for an endless moment, unable to breathe.

When the interface returns, it's like light and air after being buried in a cave-in, and the relief is nearly overwhelming. But now his neck itches, and he knows there's someone's right there, looking over his shoulder.

_No,_ he hears when he tries to bring the ship into real space. It's Fran's voice, her presence entwined with his, too close, too intimate. His mouth tastes of metal, and he panics for a moment, mentally flailing, his sense of self splintering.

_Get away,_ he thinks. It's a reflex, as is his retreat from navigation, but Fran's presence follows him out of the subsystem level. He can feel his ship sense fading, but he grits his teeth, stubbornly clings to it.

_Stop,_ she says. It's a command, implacable as steel, but he shudders and tries to resist. _Stop._ Angry now, and her presence looms larger and larger, filling the interface, crowding him out.

She's all around, squeezing him tighter, until he's drowning, darkness smudging the edges of his world. _I'm dying,_ he thinks with a detached sort of bewilderment.

Then fingers, burning hot and strong, are on him, dragging him back from the brink. "John," he hears, desperate and frightened, and he knows this voice. Not Fran, there's no frightening metallic taste in his mouth, no intruder in his head.

_Rodney,_ he thinks. _Thank god._ He tries to reach out, teetering between reality and interface. He's dizzy with it, and there's the fleeting thought that if this was what Carson felt all the time, it's no wonder he hated the chair.

His hand touches something comfortingly solid, warm, alive. It's Rodney, Rodney's soft shirt and belly, firm muscle under the padding, and he twists his fingers into the cotton fabric.

"Let's get you out of there." The voice is soft and soothing, and then Rodney's leaning over him, close enough that he can feel breath against his face.

He flops forward as he's pulled out of the chair, his face buried in Rodney's chest. His arms wind themselves around Rodney's midsection, and he can tell he's squeezing the breath out of Rodney, too tight, too desperate. He can't stop himself, just as he can't stop the long, shaky sound that comes out of his mouth, almost a sob.

"Shh," Rodney soothes. "It's okay. I got you."

"Not everyone can adapt to the interface," Fran says coolly.

Rodney's snarl cuts her off. "Get Ronon up here. Now."

Things are a blur after that, with brief flashes of clarity. Being hoisted up in Ronon's arms like a baby, weak as water in Ronon's gentle carry. Teyla's soothing voice, calming his shaking insides. A nosebleed that won't quit until Ronon does something to his face that nearly makes him scream.

"The ship wouldn't listen to me," he's finally able to report, once the fuzziness passes. He's tucked up in his bunk, his team hovering around him.

Rodney keeps trying to dab at John's face with a wet handkerchief, until John snatches it from him. John scrubs at his own nose and upper lip, grimacing when it comes away stained bright red.

"I'm fine," he says to Rodney, who pushes him down when he tries to get up.

"You almost _died_," Rodney snaps. "You're not fine."

"I will restrain you, if necessary," Teyla says, her voice low with suppressed emotion, and he leans back against his pillow with a sigh.

Ronon's eyes survey him, head to toe, followed by an elegant shrug. "Not so great a plan, Sheppard," he rumbles.

"I didn't expect it to be like that," John says defensively. "Resistance like that, it kind of surprised me."

"Nearly killed you, you mean."

John ignores Rodney's low grumbling and dabs uneasily at his nose with the handkerchief. He's still weirded out by the sense of Fran, inside his head, ripping him to shreds.

"Fran was right there when I tried to take control," he says, cautiously exploring the memory. "She could block everything I tried. She knocked me right out of the interface."

Rodney's head snaps around at that. "She was in the interface? You could feel her?" he asks urgently, pulling out his datapad.

"Yeah, I think so," John says, resisting the urge to squirm.

"You think so? Or know so? John, this is important." Rodney's tone is the one that means he's onto something.

"I know so. Okay, Rodney?" John says softly, and something about his words make Rodney look up from his work for a moment, startled.

After a moment, Rodney nods, and he looks back down at his datapad. "This is, this could be good." Rodney taps away for a long stretch, and it's a few seconds before John realizes he's holding his breath.

When Rodney looks up, he's grinning, his blue eyes alight.

Ronon's been lounging at the foot of John's bunk like a giant tomcat, but now he sits straight up. "You figured it out," he says, reaching over to thump Rodney on the back. "Just like I said you would."

Rodney's nodding smugly, and John finds himself grinning right back at him. "With Rodney, that's what you call a sucker bet."

***

"I don't have direct access to Fran's programming anymore; she must have shut that down at some point." Rodney waves a finger in the air. "She adapts astonishingly fast, don't you think? I gutted most of her protocols, and she still manages--"

"Trojan virus, you were saying," John says, loudly enough to cut through the babble. Rodney's been glued to his datapad for nearly twenty-four hours now, and the _Apollo_'s crew is getting dangerously restive. Ellis is keeping a tight rein, but John's starting to worry that someone's going to try something stupid if they don't act soon.

"Right, right." Rodney waves his datapad at them. "I just need to upload this into the ship's computer. Since she networks with the ship to keep it under her control, she'll get infected too."

"Like herpes," Ronon grunts.

They all turn to look at him, and Rodney's expression of distaste is almost comical. "Okay, gross," he says, wrinkling his nose.

"Is this a sharing moment, Ronon?" Teyla asks archly.

Ronon shrugs. "It's Jennifer. That medical stuff kinda rubs off."

John and Rodney and Teyla share knowing looks, but Ronon breaks out the death glower, and they keep silent.

"Anyway," Rodney continues. "I upload my program, and then it's _bam_."

"No more Fran," John says.

"No more Fran," Rodney repeats. He seems almost solemn, and John definitely preferred the smugness. This'll be the second time Rodney will destroy his creation, and John doesn't think it's gotten much easier for him.

"We have no choice in this, Rodney," Teyla says, because not much slips by her.

"I'm ready to go home." Ronon sounds almost wistful, and John couldn't agree more.

***

A few hours later and they're back on the bridge. John bites back a few pained grimaces and walks slowly to cover his stiffness. He's still feeling the effects of meeting Fran in the interface, but it's probably best not to remind her of that encounter.

Rodney's going for relaxed, his datapad casually slung under his arm, as if it's not carrying a deadly payload.

And John's trying to ignore it, but the captain's station is making him a little twitchy now. Just looking at it makes him queasy, his eyes darting away uneasily.

Fran barely acknowledges their presence, except for a few odd looks aimed at John. She warms back up to Rodney, after a half hour or so of compliments, judicious touches, and lots of eye contact.

John will really have to stop thinking of Rodney as lacking charm after this. He's not perfect, but his missteps are almost endearing.

And maybe John's lost his grip when he starts thinking of Rodney's brand of charm as endearing.

Rodney wanders over to lean a little too casually against a console. When he gives the signal, John moves, catching Fran's attention with inane questions about her ship's top speed. He keeps her talking, watching Rodney out of the corner of his eye.

He holds his breath after Rodney gives a thumbs up. If Rodney's calculations are correct, the virus should take effect almost immediately.

"What are you do--" Fran goes silent, her arms falling gracelessly to her sides. Her body seizes, every joint locked, and a high-pitched, mechanical wail pushes past her clenched teeth. John claps his hands over his ears, but the sound cuts out almost immediately.

"Damn," John breathes. He hadn't expected it to be quite this disturbing to watch, but he doesn't let himself look away.

When Fran's eyes roll back into her head, Rodney reaches out to her, and it's just like Rodney to pick the worst possible time to be chivalrous.

Because that's when everything comes unglued. Fran's arm lashes out, sending Rodney crashing into a bulkhead with a sickening thud.

"Rodney," John bellows. Rodney's too still, his legs splayed like a discarded doll. It's one of John's nightmares come to life, and he's rushing forward without a thought. He almost makes it to Rodney's side, close enough that he can tell Rodney's still conscious, his eyes wide and panicked.

Then a hand like iron is clamping around his throat, and oh, god, he can't breathe. He twists in her grasp, kicking frantically, but it's like kicking a brick wall. His strength fades fast. His vision closes down until Fran's perfectly inhuman face is all he sees. Her eyes are empty of any trace of emotion as she tightens her grip.

"You'll kill him," Rodney says breathlessly. "Fran, I'm sorry. Please, don't hurt him."

John's closing down, lights out, when he hears Ronon roar, and Teyla, sounding as cold and deadly as he's ever heard her.

Then he's crashing to the floor, the jolt to his ribs like fire, but he can breathe again. His vision clears up after a couple of breaths, and he finally manages to parse Teyla's words.

"If he dies, we all die," she'd said.

Teyla's got her sidearm leveled at one of the view ports, her finger on the trigger, and apparently the threat of explosive decompression is enough to give even a Replicator pause. Fran's face is immobile, but there's something wary in the tilt of her head.

"I'm okay," John croaks, giving Teyla a weak little wave. "Stand down, Teyla," he says, and she finally lowers her weapon.

"Fran, it was my fault, my doing," Rodney babbles. He's trying to stand by propping himself against the bulkhead, but he puts weight on his bad arm. "Oh, christ," he says, squeezing his eyes shut, and he folds back onto the deck.

Ronon's at Rodney's side in a few long strides, bending over to lend a hand. "Shake it off, McKay," he says, but he's gentle as he helps Rodney to his feet.

"Let them go, Fran. It's me you want. I'll go with you." Rodney's sweating, his eyes fixed on Fran's.

"Rodney, no," John says, wincing as he pulls himself up off the deck, but Rodney barrels right over the words.

"I won't try to resist, I promise, if you let them go. Drop everyone off on a nice planet with a stargate somewhere. They're more trouble than they're worth, honestly."

"We hardly think you're in a position to negotiate, Dr. McKay." Fran's voice sounds deeper now, rougher. Her features are even more wooden than before, which John wouldn't have thought possible.

"Fran--"

She cuts him off. "Is not in charge right now. I do not share her strange attachment to you, I'm afraid."

Rodney's eyes go wide. "Oh, god, oh, god. I knew there was no way she could've survived that blast--"

Fran is changing, blurring in ways that makes John's stomach churn. Her face settles into softer, rounder features than before, although the look in her eyes is much, much harder. "Her physical form did not survive. Only traces of her engram, her 'program' I believe you would say, were left."

"And that program is what Rodney's virus targeted," Teyla says. She's finally put away her sidearm, John notices.

"Just so," Fran says, moving to the command chair. "Leaving me in control once more." She closes her eyes a moment, resting a palm on a console. "Finally. No more delays. We'll be there in hours."

"Fran was putting off our arrival so she could spend time with McKay." Ronon sounds dubious, but Fran's nodding.

"She was quite stubborn about him, in her way." Fran glances over at Rodney. "But don't let that flatter you too much, Dr. McKay. In the end, you overestimated your value. Although it was rather amusing watching you beg for your people's release."

Rodney swallows hard, his face paler than before, but he says nothing. He looks utterly exhausted, resting more of his weight against Ronon.

"The big question is who," John snarls. "Who slapped Fran's program over yours and why?"

"That is the main point, isn't it?" Fran says coolly. "She thought you'd underestimate Fran, hollowed shadow that she is. A monster of your own creation."

John shifts his weight impatiently. "Yeah, yeah, let's not get all Gothic horror here."

Fran pauses, and the twist of her lips is nowhere near a smile. "But I am not so fragile. I am not so easily swayed in our mission. It's the lot of you she wants, the entire team. Not just Dr. McKay."

"'She'?" Teyla asks, her voice flat.

"You really can't guess? Why, Dr. Weir, of course."

***

"'Push her out of an airlock?'" Rodney sneers at Ellis, trying hard for derision, but he just sounds tired.

He doesn't even bother looking up from where he's working on his datapad, its cover off and its innards exposed. Fran trashed it, smashed it to the deck when she caught him trying to hack back into the ship's computer, and gave Rodney the bruise that's darkening over one cheekbone.

Rodney's been trying to fix it ever since, but John doesn't think he's gotten very far. It's slow going, gently teasing out the parts with the fingers of his one good hand. He needed help getting the cover of the datapad off, and John can tell that his lack of dexterity is making him pissy.

"Fran controls the ship," John says quietly. "We can't open an airlock in the first place."

"And we're just going to sit here and take it? McKay?" Ellis sounds stricken, like a kid being told Christmas is cancelled. He'd finally joined the fold of the McKay faithful after the destruction of Asuras, but their current situation is obviously testing his conversion.

Rodney doesn't look up from his work. "Busy here, in case you didn't notice."

"She threatened you, Colonel Ellis," Teyla says stiffly. John can tell that she's not taking kindly to Ellis' implication that they're slacking. "She broke Rodney's computer, and then threatened your crew to secure our good behavior. As a show of her intent, she began venting atmosphere in that section of the ship."

Ellis' eyes widen. "My engineer mentioned something about the environmentals being unreliable, but..." He shakes his head, his expression going bleak.

"Too bad shooting her is a big waste of ammo." Ronon sounds disgusted and maybe a little too tempted by the thought.

"Easy, big guy," John warns. He reaches up to touch his throat gingerly. "That'll just piss her off. We don't want her hurting anyone."

"Anyone _else_, you mean." Rodney's cradling his arm, but his eyes are on John, and it's a mediocre stab at his usual bickering tone. He's staring over at John, but he's not meeting John's eyes. His gaze is aimed lower, and John realizes Rodney's watching him map out the damage that Fran's grip left on his throat. It's probably bruising up nicely by now, and he pulls his hand away, feeling self-conscious.

Rodney blinks a few times, looking strangely vulnerable, and then shrugs. He nods down at the datapad. "This is going to take me forever," he sighs.

Ellis frowns, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I don't like this--" He cuts himself off abruptly, his head snapping up.

Rodney's about to say something, but John motions him silent. He feels it, too, the faintest of shudders, almost subliminal, something only a pilot would notice, or a ship's captain.

_Elizabeth,_ he thinks, and the stab in his gut ambushes him, rage and guilt mixed together, at her for dying in the first place, at himself for failing her, at Keller and Rodney for setting the whole nanite train to hell in motion. _Fuck._ He can feel his teeth clenching and barely manages not to say the word aloud.

"Time's up." He's going for cool, but he doubts anybody on his team is fooled. "We just matched airlocks with someone. She's here."

***

Fran comes to round them up, backed by a group of blank-faced Replicators, who strip them of their weapons. "Your presence was not requested," she says to Ellis. John swears there's a trace of malice in her expression, and he can't decide which is creepier, the standard Replicator Vulcan thing, or Fran's emulation of human emotion.

Fran stares at Ellis, her eyes narrow in calculation, and Ellis stiffens. "But perhaps you'll prove useful," she says.

Ellis raises an eyebrow at her, but otherwise doesn't respond. He has to know that his "use" is as a hostage for the team's obedience, and he looks no happier about that than he's been about anything in this whole damn clusterfuck. He gives Fran a clipped nod, his chin set in a stubborn line that reminds John a little of Rodney.

They're being marched towards the airlock when Teyla whispers, "Are you well, John?" and he realizes how slowly he's walking.

"I'm fine." He's lying through his teeth, and he doubts she's buying it. "You?" he asks, because the serenity she wears like armor is looking brittle.

She looks away for a moment. "No worse than you, I believe."

Ronon snorts, and Rodney decides to join in, so softly John can barely hear him. "We're going to die. I brought her back from the dead, and oh, god, this is all my fault. I should never, we should never, but she looked so--"

"Yeah, Rodney, everything's your fault," John says, cutting off the babble. "We'd never screw up anything without you. You're the source of all evil in this galaxy. Well, you and the Wraith. Mostly you, though." He can feel his eyebrow going up ironically, and he makes sure to look Rodney right in the eyes, _Easy, easy, I got you, buddy._

Ellis seems taken aback by John's words, although Rodney just looks startled. He stares right back, his eyes wide. It's always been a rush, getting the full weight of Rodney's attention, and it's no different now, like basking in warm sun. And John has no idea what's cranking away in Rodney's giant brain, but it's reassuringly normal, just part of the job, to keep Rodney on track.

"Not comforting," Rodney says weakly, but the expression on his face says that it is.

They've stopped in the middle of the corridor, which earns them a shove from one of the Replicators. Ronon bares his teeth at them, but they seem unimpressed.

Another shove, and "Easy with the merchandise," John says, which at least drags a nervous laugh out of Rodney.

"No more dawdling," Fran says in a cold voice. "She is waiting."

***

John's been trying to prepare himself, but it's still a shock when they step onto the darkened bridge. She's sitting at the captain's station, dressed in something that looks like her old uniform, only darker and shinier, and John flashes nonsensically on evil Kirk and goatees.

It's Elizabeth's face, thin and pale over her dark clothing, her calm gaze. Her expression is achingly familiar, the amused half smile from every briefing that morphed into the John-and-Rodney show.

"Good. You're here," she says with a smile. Casual, just like they've dropped by her office, and the utter wrongness of it makes John's head hurt. "And Colonel Ellis, as well. Welcome aboard."

Ellis keeps silent and stares at her, looking a little queasy.

"What do you want?" John asks, his tone flat and dangerous. An arm brushes his. It's Rodney's he sees when he glances over. Teyla has moved to his other flank, and he realizes they've fallen into a defensive formation without a thought, with Ellis in the center.

"Such hostility." Weir's looking at Teyla, but if she's looking for a friendly face, she doesn't find one.

"We are here against our will," Teyla says coldly. "Hostility would seem to be a natural consequence."

Their response seems to throw her. Her focus turns inward, and her face goes completely blank for a moment. Like a light flickering or a computer reboot, expression returns to her face, but now it's an apologetic smile.

"I just wanted the chance to see you all again. To talk," she says.

"Well, you've seen us, and we've talked," Rodney says a little too quickly. He's putting on a brave front, but John hopes she's missing the unsteadiness in his voice. "Old home week's over, so you can just send us on our way. Things to do back home, busy, busy."

Weir laughs, carefree and light, and it'd be pretty damn convincing if John hadn't just witnessed her slip. This is all surface; there's a _thing_ wearing their friend's face, and he better not forget it for a moment.

"I've missed you, Rodney," she says fondly. "Impatient as always. Did you think I'd let you go so quickly, the man who saved my life?"

Rodney takes a jerky step back at that, nearly stomping on John's foot. John drops a supportive hand onto the small of Rodney's back, making sure the gesture is hidden from Weir's view.

"Leave him be," John says harshly. "Just tell us what you want."

Fran's been a silent onlooker so far, but she speaks up now. "Don't be so hard on our Dr. Weir," she says. "She gets so few chances to play the human now."

The crosscurrent of antagonism reminds John that their Asuran enemy has never been a monolithic one. It looks like it's no different now. Factions and in-fighting and he wonders if they can use any of it to their advantage.

"She's after the Spirat," Fran adds impatiently. She frowns when they all turn blank faces towards her. "The Spirat, the Relic."

"Enough," Weir snaps, and Fran wilts before the unmistakable threat in her voice. She takes a careful step back, her head bowed. Weir's hand moves, sketches a gesture that's both graceful and utterly foreign. It's full of meaning to the Replicators though, and the tension on the bridge eases.

"What is she talking about?" Ellis' voice is pitched low, just for John and the team. John can only shrug, but Weir's hearing isn't limited by human physiology anymore. She turns to look at them, but doesn't immediately say anything.

Her smile goes remote, like she's staring through them. John has to fight the urge to recoil from just how alien she looks in that moment.

"Second chances," Weir says finally. "Everyone deserves a second chance, don't you think? Atlantis was yours, Colonel Sheppard. I gave you that chance. Do I deserve no less?"

"You're not coming back to Atlantis." Ronon widens his stance, like he's getting ready to kick heads.

Teyla takes in a sharp breath, her eyes widening. "That's not her goal, Ronon. Is it, Dr. Weir? You are far too comfortable in that chair to wish to leave it."

"The table," Rodney blurts. "The table I used to make Fran. In the database, it was called--"

"The Spirat," Weir finishes for him, her eyes bright. "You thought you were creating a weaker form of Replicator in Fran, but really you just made a more versatile one. The first of a new breed, Dr. McKay, free of the twisted obsessions that hampered the Asurans. We will build a new society, the dawn of a new age of Replicator."

The silence that greets her is so complete that Rodney's audible swallow sounds thunderous.

***

Weir puts up with a lot of stalling before her patience ends.

Whenever she was about to lose it, the old Elizabeth was all quiet and false calm, a subtle eye twitch as the only tell of her true state of mind. This perverted Replicator version of her is blandly chiding and pleasant until suddenly she goes blank and then not very pleasant at all.

John's ribs are throbbing from a couple of Replicator-strong shoves, and he's almost relieved when she herds them down to a set of cells that look a lot like the ones on the _Aurora_.

"I was wondering when this part of the entertainment would start," Rodney says. "Kind of predictable, really."

"Silence." Fran pushes him towards the largest of the cells. "In there. All of you."

John's stomach clenches when their escorts follow them into the cell.

"John," Weir says, giving them a sad-eyed look. "Teyla. You know me. I really don't want this to be unpleasant, but you are forcing my hand."

She waits a beat, and slowly nods when she gets no response. As the silence stretches out, she turns with preternatural speed to thrust her fingers into Ellis' forehead.

"No, don't," John blurts, shocked in spite of himself.

It's far from the worst thing John's ever seen. That's what he tells himself anyway. There's no blood or gore, but he knows first-hand just how awful it is.

Invisible, but it's real, and worse than being shot. Because it messes with his head, shakes his sense of self. _Like rape._ The thought floats in from nowhere, but John squashes it before it's fully formed, just like he always does.

Ellis puts up a valiant fight, snarling, his lips pulling back, but it's no use. She soon forces him to his knees, and his eyes close. It doesn't look painful from this side, but John knows all about appearances and deception.

It's Teyla who breaks first, but only because she beats John to the punch. "Stop this," she says, almost a shout, and John can't remember the last time he's heard Teyla raise her voice. "Dr. Weir. Stop, please."

Weir looks over at them, one eyebrow going up quizzically, but leaves her hand where it is.

"We'll give you the table, okay?" John says. He looks over at Rodney and Ronon. Rodney is wide-eyed, while Ronon is tense beneath a deceptively sleepy surface, but John knows agreement when he sees it. "You can have your Spirograph or whatever the hell it is, but just leave him alone."

Weir nods. Her hand pulls back, and Ellis slides to the deck, out cold.

John sighs in relief-- and then realizes it's not going to be anywhere that easy when Weir turns in his direction, her hand thrust forward. _Oh, crap._

It's been a while since John's had a Replicator getting intimate with his cranium, but he could've happily gone the rest of his life without a repeat performance. He must have blanked out the worst of it, because this is way worse than he remembers.

_You were lying, Colonel Sheppard. You have no intention of giving us what we need._ Weir's mental voice sounds betrayed, of all things. As if she'd really expected them to want to help her, yeah, take the table, no problem, build your evil empire, knock yourself out.

There's no false reality to cushion the experience this time, just his knees grinding into the deck and Weir in his head, laying him bare, slicing him open memory by memory.

_Teyla with her new son. Wincing as Keller stitches him up. Talking shop on a balcony with Carter. Then Ellis is complaining about something, and Rodney's saying, "He's such a tool." _

And once he starts on Rodney, he can't seem to stop.

_Rodney's voice, sloppy drunk during the marriage proposal postmortem, "It was nice, you know. Just having someone there."_

_Stop it_, John thinks, _oh, shit._ But he's piqued Weir's interest and she digs deeper, like a cat torturing prey, enjoying his struggle.

He can't stop the memory from spooling out for Weir's amusement.

_"I'll be alone my whole damn life." Laced through Rodney's slurred voice is real pain, which drags a response from John._

"You don't have to be alone, idiot," he says, too careless on ruus wine with its damn kick. "I'm right here, Rodney." There's affection and something more in his voice. He's burning up with it and scared out of his mind.

But when he looks over, it's to see Rodney snoring away, dead to the world.

"Intriguing," Weir says, aloud this time, and she sounds like Rodney faced with a new piece of Ancient tech.

But at least he can finally think straight again, alone in his head. He's on his hands and knees on the deck, trying not to throw up.

"Sheppard, you all right?" Ronon's got two Replicators practically sitting on him, and he sounds like he's about to explode.

John manages a weak wave, still swallowing bile.

A strangled moan brings his head over in time to see Rodney sliding to the floor. "Rodney," he gasps, but his arms and legs just kind of twitch when he tries to move to Rodney's side.

Fran's standing over him, her hand a flattened knife still pointing at his head. She's staring down at Rodney, her head tilted in what looks like confusion.

"Rodney?" Fran says, a weird shimmer flickering over her face.

And that's when all hell breaks loose.

John feels it through his palms and knees, and then hears a metallic shriek. The ship is shuddering around them, and Weir's head snaps up.

"They _what_?" she says to the air, communicating with the bridge, John assumes.

Another hard jolt nearly sends Weir to her knees, and her expression goes hard. "We're coming." She sends Ellis an assessing look. "Enjoy your incarceration." The other Replicators obediently fall in behind her as she leaves, and the cell door shuts behind them without a clang, well-oiled.

_At least Replicator cell maintenance is better than, say, the Genii's_, John thinks with a soundless laugh. And it's not even funny that he's managed to become something of a connoisseur on the whole thing.

"That was so not right," Ellis says hollowly from the deck, and John can only nod.

Ronon hauls John up off the deck, and then does the same for Rodney. "Easy, McKay." He's trying to steady him on his feet, when another shudder nearly takes them out again.

"What is happening?" Teyla asks. She's looking pale and shaky, but she at least managed to stay on her feet, so she's got John beat.

Ellis has a weird look on his face, pride and suppressed panic all mixed together.

"Maybe Colonel Ellis can enlighten us," John drawls, cocking his head expectantly. "I thought you didn't want them doing anything stupid?"

He's a little annoyed at himself; although he had known that Ellis' people were getting antsy, he still hadn't expected much to come of it. After all, they didn't have Rodney, the fastest brain in two galaxies. But maybe he'd underestimated them.

"I know my crew. They're not stupid, Colonel," Ellis sneers, and the instant defense of his crew deflates most of John's anger.

"Did you really think they were going to take this crap lying down?" Ellis adds, his jaw tight, but any further explanation is cut short.

Rodney's lurched over to the cell door, shoving his good arm through the bars awkwardly. "Ow," he says as he tries to make his arm bend in a way it's not supposed to.

"McKay, what are you doing?" Ellis is leaning on Teyla, but at least he's upright and able to move if they need to.

"Keypad," John answers for him. To Rodney he adds, "There's thousands of combinations, Rodney. It'll take forever to try them all."

"I...know that," Rodney says, his breathing labored as he mashes himself against the bars to get more reach. A long stretch of silence is broken only by Rodney's heavy breathing and sounds of frustration.

And then, _click_, the door is opening, and Rodney's grinning at them a little manically. "But it only takes a second if you know the code."

There's a beat of stunned silence and then, Ellis says, "Damn straight. He did it. Again." His smile is weak but genuine, and it looks like he's returned to the McKay fold. He presses them towards the door eagerly.

"Good going, Rodney," John says with genuine feeling as he follows him out of the cell. "If they're going to steal thoughts right out of your head, you steal stuff right back."

John stops, distracted because Rodney's shaking his head, frowning. "What's wrong, Rodney?"

"I don't think I stole anything," Rodney says, staring firmly at Ronon's back. He's disconcerted; John can see it in the tilt of his mouth. "I think Fran gave it to me."

"Huh," John says. He's about to say more, but Teyla catches his attention.

"It's clear," she says, peering up and down the corridor. "Try the airlock?"

"The airlock," he confirms and then nods at her to take point. She leads them out into the corridor, her eyes narrowed in concentration. The back of John's neck itches at just how exposed they'll be, but at least Teyla's got hearing like a bat and her reaction time puts even Ronon to shame.

John gestures a _shh_ at Ellis, a finger over his lips. He figures Ellis' combat experience has been mostly from the bridge of a ship; it's doubtful he's brushed up on his Stealth 101 skills lately. Ellis rolls his eyes a little, but nods.

They creep through mostly deserted corridors, hugging bulkheads, soft-footed. Every intersection is an exercise in fraying nerves, check, double-check. The Replicators are few and far between, but it'd only take one to send everything crashing down around their ears.

It doesn't help that just staying upright is no easy trick. The ship's bucking like a bronco, heaving and diving too suddenly for the inertial dampeners to keep up. It feels like combat maneuvers, but John's trying not to get his hopes up as to who's winning this fight.

They're in a sheltered alcove, waiting for the corridor ahead of them to clear, when Ellis finally spills the rest of the story. "She did it," he whispers, and John can hear the pleased smirk in his voice.

"'She'?" John pretty sure he already knows the answer to his question, but he lifts an eyebrow anyway.

"My chief engineer. Lopez," Ellis says. "She was trying to figure out a way to take control of the ship at the subsystem level. Bypass the ship's computer entirely, and then you don't have to worry about Fran's computer lock."

"Wait, what?" Rodney's sputtering, waving his good hand at Ellis. "That's crazy; without the computer, she'll have only the most rudimentary control over the ship."

Then he goes thoughtful, nodding his head. "I've watched her figure out Ancient tech workarounds as fast as Zelenka; I think not having the gene forces them to be creative. Not bad," he adds, but then he swings back to annoyed. "But you didn't think to inform us as to this little plan of yours?"

"Good question," Ronon says, looming over Ellis with intent.

"Hand in the forehead ring any bells?" Ellis says tightly, tapping his own forehead for emphasis. "After the initial report, I told her to keep me in the dark as much as possible. I read your Replicator assessment, Colonel. I'm not stupid."

"We should move again," Teyla says. She's been keeping watch on the corridor ahead of them.

The deck drops beneath their feet just then, the worst one yet. Rodney nearly goes down, saved only by John's fast reflexes. They end up in each other's space, pressed together more intimately than John had intended, but he takes a moment to enjoy the heat and familiar bulk of Rodney at close proximity.

"Thanks," Rodney mutters after a beat, sounding flustered. He doesn't pull away, rubbing gingerly at his bad shoulder. "You know, if we're feeling this much movement, there's a more than even chance--"

"That the airlock's already gone," John finishes for him. "Damn."

"Colonel Sheppard is correct," says Fran.

"Shit," John blurts. His fingers close on an empty holster, but even with his sidearm, it's not like a bullet would have harmed her, anyway.

One minute nothing, the next she's right in the midst of them, and John wonders if she used some special Replicator powers to move so fast. She's easily holding up a struggling Teyla with one hand, and John _knows_ Fran must have used some freaky super speed and strength to get the drop on Teyla.

"Be still, Teyla Emmagan," Fran says, holding Teyla up off the deck with no hint of strain in her voice. "I do not wish to harm you."

Teyla goes still. "Put me down." The flat tone doesn't fool John; she's in a dangerous mood. She's a little more subtle about it than Ronon would be, but she hates it when she loses a fight. The look she gives Fran is scary enough that John almost takes a step back.

Fran sets Teyla onto her feet again. She seems confused by Teyla's death glare, shooting Rodney a look of such doe-eyed innocence that it makes John's teeth hurt. "I gave Dr. McKay the code. I am trying to help you. To help my maker."

"Fran?" Rodney says. "My Fran?" He sounds eager and hopeful, his eyes wide, and John can't help the bitter rush that flashes through him. "I thought I'd killed--I mean I thought we had erased you."

Rodney's slip is telling, and John frowns. It deepens when Fran shakes her head and smiles at Rodney, as eager as a puppy trying to please.

"Merely weakened me. It allowed my counterpart to take control for a while, but I was always in the background, sharing this body."

Rodney's mouth quirks. "Been there, done that," he says, smiling happily back at her, and it's too bad Hallmark doesn't make a card for someone having a damn _reunion_ with his homicidal femmebot.

"When we touched your mind, I..." Fran hesitates, tilting her head to one side, searching for words. She tries again, "She hurt you. I am not programmed to feel pain. But when she hurt you, I felt something strange. Something wrong." She touches her chest tentatively. "Here. It was...pain, I know that somehow. I felt your pain as if it were my own."

_Don't say it, don't say it, just don't go there._ The thought spins inside John's head, a hamster on a wheel.

"Dr. McKay." She goes silent, and her hand reaches out towards Rodney. "Rodney."

John bristles, moving between them. "Stop right there," he warns, shooting her a hard glance.

"John, what's wrong?" Rodney says. When John looks over, it's to see him swiveling his gaze between the two of them, tennis match style. He seems genuinely confused, out of step with the currents that are swirling around him.

_As clueless as always_, John thinks with a rush of sudden protectiveness, fiercely glad of Rodney's emotional backwardness.

"Nothing's wrong," John says. "Is it, Fran?"

John glances over at Rodney, who's smiling at Fran, his expression kind but a little bewildered.

Fran snatches her hand back and looks down at the deck for a moment. Her eyes seem a little lost when she glances back up at them.

She directs her words at Rodney alone. "I could tell she was hurting you. That was not...acceptable. Never." Her voice catches at the end.

_Ambushed by emotion._ John can't help the thought, or the unnerving sense of familiarity that washes in with it: _Kinda sucks, doesn't it?_ He shifts his weight, not particularly pleased that he's got something in common with a Replicator. He shakes his head irritably.

Fran closes her eyes for a long moment, then says, "I could not stand by. I fought my way to the surface once more."

"Anyway," John says sharply, and he drops a hand casually onto Rodney's back. He's the recipient of Fran's eerie stare then, curious, almost bird-like. _Sad._ And he's still stubbornly trying to convince himself that her eyes are black and dead as a doll's, but the emotion looks just as real as the rest of her.

John swallows. "If the airlock's gone, what's the plan?"

"There are lifeboats," Fran says quietly, after a pause. "They're not far from here."

"No way. We'll get shot out of the sky." Ronon's rumble sounds skeptical, and Teyla looks mutinous.

Ellis' expression isn't much better. "My crew." He sounds downright desperate; it's got to be killing him that they're facing this without him, to _not know_. "We have to do something about Weir first."

Rodney grimaces in sympathy. "Jury-rigged controls, no nav computer--they'll be sitting ducks in any kind of fight. Ellis is right. We've got to trip Weir up somehow, sabotage her defense systems or something."

Fran hesitates, and John doesn't think he's imagining the reluctance in her eyes. It's as if she hadn't allowed herself to think of anything beyond saving Rodney from being hurt, beyond getting them away from Weir. Hadn't let herself think of her own actions as betrayal.

John takes advantage of the moment, gesturing at Ellis. "Teyla, Ronon, you get him to those lifeboats. Ellis, you think you can fly one of 'em?"

"Of course," Ellis says, managing to sound insulted and cocky at the same time.

To Teyla and Ronon, John adds, "You guys get back to Fran's ship." Two glowers are trained on him, and he rushes to add, "Rodney and I'll catch up, I promise, soon as we can."

"We will come with you. There is safety in numbers," Teyla protests, her eyes dark with worry.

John shakes his head. "I need you to get Ellis back to his crew. And it's easier to sneak around with fewer boots." He glances at Rodney: he's white around the eyes, barely suppressed panic in his posture, but he's nodding. It's business as usual, in other words, and John catches his eye. _We can do this, buddy._

Rodney takes a breath and turns to Teyla. "We'll be okay." He doesn't sound entirely confident, but he's got his stubborn face on. "Go, go, go," he says impatiently, wincing when his bad arm tries to get in on his shooing gesture.

Ronon doesn't say anything, but his level stare is a little threatening. _Come back safe or else_, and John nods.

While Fran is giving Teyla directions to the lifeboat bay, John eases close to Rodney. "What's the plan?" he whispers, his lips brushing Rodney's ear.

Rodney's breath catches audibly, and John's close enough that he can feel Rodney shiver. After a pause, Rodney whispers back, "Get to engineering. Hack into the computer."

Rodney glances at Fran, and John waits until Rodney's eyes are on him again. "Can't trust her," John warns. He mouths the words, wary of her Replicator hearing.

"Duh, genius," Rodney says, rolling his eyes.

John feels himself relax, just a little, and then he tenses up all over again when Fran rejoins them.

"We need to get to engineering," he hears Rodney say to Fran, but he doesn't take his eyes off Teyla and Ronon. He keeps watching until they disappear around a corner, trying not to wonder if this is the last time he'll ever see them.

***

"Tick, tock, Rodney." John's prodding just a little, because Rodney's been bent over the engineering console for what feels like _hours_. Minutes, more likely, but John's never been good at helpless. It's always been his job to save the day, and he hates sitting on the sidelines, watching someone else take up his slack.

"Working," Rodney says through gritted teeth. The panic seeping into his body language isn't helping John's tension level. From eagerly sniffing out the necessary console, Rodney's now making his frowny face of frustration. And they've got nothing to show for it but Rodney's increasingly profane muttering and more frantic one-handed typing.

Rodney lets out a frustrated sound, shaking his head. "Fran's ship had a purely Ancient system, but this is different. Only the core is Ancient; the rest is layer on layer of Asuran programming."

"But you've dealt with that before," John says, trying to sound confident.

Rodney sighs, scrubbing at his eyes with his good hand. "It's not that simple." John's deliberate stare prods him to add, "I know, I know, now stop distracting me."

Fran's hanging back, her face expressionless. She's neither helping nor hindering, but every passing second is wide open for something to go wrong. The Sybil thing worked out for them once before, but John trusts her stability about as much as he trusts any of the Replicators, which is to say not at all.

Every passing second is just more time for Weir's side, for her tactical advantage to win out in a battle John has no control over and can't even see. It's all making him restless and twitchy as hell.

A wild shift of the deck beneath them nearly sends Rodney off his feet. He crashes into the console, letting out a pained sound.

"Damn it," Rodney says under his breath. John helps him up, trying not to wince as his own ribs protest the movement.

"Okay?" John stays close, right behind Rodney, steadying him on his feet.

Rodney mutters irritably in response, already absorbed in typing.

John peeks over Rodney's shoulder, eyeing the screen he's working on. It's crowded with Ancient text, mostly Greek to John, except the peculiarly smug-looking string of characters that pops up, denoting "access denied."

He knows that phrase like the parts of his sidearm, learned the hard way, from countless other frantic moments back on Atlantis. He squashes the memory of Elizabeth, her flicker of amusement when she told them the phrase literally translated as "your purity remains in doubt."

Rodney lets out a frustrated snarl and then turns to look over his shoulder at John, his profile pale. "John, I don't think I can--"

"Don't give me that," John says. "Don't tell me you can't figure this out, Rodney."

"Fine, I won't tell you I can't figure this out." Rodney waves a hand at the console in front of him. "But it's taking too long. Weir's got everything locked down tighter than my old landlady's repair budget."

"Are you the fastest brain around, or not?" John says. "You can do this, Rodney."

He's reached out to touch before he can stop himself, his hand on the curve of Rodney's back, where he's hunched over like a chipmunk. Rodney's eyes go wide, but John doesn't pull back. He can feel the old crazy ass smile taking over his face, adrenaline and flying high. Déja vu, they've been here before, and they always come out ahead, even when it seems impossible.

The deck tilts crazily, and this time John doesn't keep his balance, his arms flailing. When he shifts his weight, his feet tangle together, and then it's somehow inevitable that he crashes into Rodney. They end up closer than close, John's front plastered against Rodney's back, his arms wrapped around Rodney's waist, his nose pressed behind Rodney's ear.

John breathes in the sweaty smell of Rodney and stifles a laugh, half desperation, half relief. This might be their last chance, and he can't get the memory of Fran's emotion--_love and pain, two sides of one coin_, a flash of treacherous thought--out of his head.

He knows what he wants. He's known for years now.

For even longer that that, his whole life, practically, he's known about all the things he can't let himself have. Years of want, tamped down, treacherous arousal, suppressed.

It sabotaged his marriage, made him wary and careful. And now it's all washing over him, cutting through him, waves eroding a cliff face. It's not worth resisting anymore.

Fate is giving John a taste of what he's tried so hard not to want, and who is he to deny it. Rodney's right there, the fragile skin of his neck offered up, and John can't help it. He leans forward, inexorable as gravity, goes in for a taste, slides his tongue over warm skin.

John wonders what it says about his own psyche--his ribs are throbbing, it's crunch time, life or death with a turncoat Replicator watching, and he's turned on. But it feels like now or never, the razor edge of mortality. If it's time for their luck to turn belly up, then he's got nothing to lose.

"John, what--?" Rodney cuts himself off, his breath coming in sharply, almost a gasp, and John's stomach tightens and threatens to go sour. He tries to make himself stop, to wait for Rodney's reaction, but his tongue flickers out again.

And, _yes_, Rodney's muscles relax all at once, his breath coming out in a groan, and he's not pulling away. Not pulling away at all, in fact he's pressing his ass against John's groin, a grind dirty enough that John wonders if Rodney's done this before.

"You can do this." It comes out rough and low, because John's riding a burst of insanity or hope or both. The crazy smile hasn't left his face the whole time, and he can feel it getting even wilder. "You just need incentive."

"Oh," Rodney says, almost under his breath. "You, this. I didn't know." His voice is shaking, but John doesn't think it's from fear. "Why didn't you...damn it, _John_," Rodney says, sheer surprise and want mixed in together.

His thoughts are cut short when Rodney's hand reaches back to grip his hip, fumbles back to grab his ass. It's clumsy but there's no hesitation in how Rodney's fingers dig deep, pulling John closer. Rodney takes in a sharp breath through his nose as his head turns to the side, so that he's looking over his shoulder at John.

The tip of Rodney's tongue sneaks out to wet his lips, and John takes that as an invitation. John leans in too fast and ends up smashing his lips against the corner of Rodney's mouth. Rodney huffs a little, a puff of air against John's cheek, almost a chuckle, and then settles into it.

It's not the greatest kiss, a little stiff and tentative, but the underlying affection is obvious.

Then Rodney's mouth opens to let John in, and that triggers something, in spite of chapped lips and Rodney's twisted position. There's heat and rising tension, and John's getting hard, just from this. Rodney's into it, too, his hand moving over John's ass, groping hungrily, and John can hear himself let out a groan against Rodney's mouth.

It's a sign of how far gone John is that he's completely forgotten about Fran until she speaks. "That is called a 'kiss.'"

His head snaps around so fast his neck twinges, to see that she's been standing by, watching them avidly. She's tilting her head at them, nodding, as if connecting her word to their action is the last piece of a puzzle, or the final line of a proof, QED.

"Dr. Zelenka taught me the word. He had a photographic rendering of his ancestors engaged in this activity," Fran explains.

"'Ancestors'?" John repeats stupidly. "His parents, you mean?"

She nods. "He said it was a sign of their love."

"Whoa, there," John says, his face heating up. His hand goes up, palm out like a traffic cop, _stop, stop_, and she subsides obediently. He's about to try to laugh it off when his mouth snaps shut.

Because he sees that she's touching her own lips, looking utterly broken. Stretched beyond her limits, and he's really, really glad Replicators can't cry. The thought brings with it a strange prickle of shame, which he tries to ignore.

Her expressions are subtle to the point of invisibility, and he's not even sure how he knows what he knows. But he doesn't doubt that Fran's hidden depths are real, and they keep taking him by surprise. It's more disturbing than enlightening, seeing her like this, and he's glad when Rodney interrupts.

"'Ancestors,'" Rodney blurts, his head jerking up, his fingers snapping. "That's it." He leans over the console, fingers flying.

"You figured it out," John says, and the smirk that takes over his face is comforting, a refuge. "Must've been good incentive."

Rodney lets out a nervous little laugh, and a flush stains the part of his cheek that's all John can see of his face. There's a pause in his typing, and then Rodney says, "Don't let it go to your head, Sheppard. It was Fran, really, that got me thinking. I was trying to tackle the Replicator higher level computer systems--navigation or defense, something like that."

"But?" John prods, because Rodney's getting lost in typing before he can finish his explanation.

"Hah," Rodney crows as the screen blinks. "I knew it. What's the one constant whenever the Ancients dealt with the Replicators?"

It's a rhetorical question, apparently, because Rodney doesn't even pause. "No trust. They were weapons, no more, no less, even before they started turning on their makers. Dangerous weapons, requiring safeguards."

John can't help glancing over at Fran at that. Her reaction is hidden from him, though. She's turned away from them, staring off at nothing, as far as he can tell.

He sighs, but then he goes back to peering over Rodney's shoulder, so he's watching when the screen finally pops up.

He recognizes it instantly, an almost painful jolt. It's a program interface that he knows like the back of his hand, something that's featured prominently in his nightmares.

"Self-destruct sequence," he breathes, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Fran stiffen.

"Triggered by an Ancient," Rodney says. "Or someone with the gene in this case. A failsafe beyond the reach of any Replicator tampering, hard wired into the ship itself."

"I'll stay--" John starts to say, but Rodney shuts him up bodily, with a hand over John's mouth.

"Don't even go there, you idiot," Rodney snarls. "The day I can't extend a simple delay sequence is the day I'll let Zelenka take over as chief of science."

John tries to smile with his eyes, deliberately giving Rodney's palm a wet swipe with his tongue.

"Oh, for..." Rodney says, pulling his hand away. He wipes it on John's shirt, looking flustered. "You're insane."

"And you're blushing," John says dryly. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Fran watching them, her eyes dark.

"Do not," Fran starts to say, and then clears her throat noisily. "Do not forget to disable the monitoring program."

"Monitoring program?" he and Rodney say in near unison.

"No, no, no." It's shock, not denial in Rodney's words. He's gone so pale that John instinctively reaches out to press a hand to the small of Rodney's back, a helpless show of support.

Rodney doesn't seem to notice. He fumbles at the screen even though he's never clumsy with Ancient tech. When he looks over at John, _She's right_, is the appalled look in his eyes.

John's feeling a little sick himself. It's sobering enough that Rodney's injuries and fatigue have caught up with him to the point that he's making mistakes, but now their debt to Fran has gotten even deeper. He numbly watches Rodney bend over the console once more.

Fran pauses for a moment, her attention directed inward. "My counterpart," she says, her eyes unfocused, "was the captain before your Dr. Weir took her place. She knows much about this ship, some of which I have access to. She knew about that self-destruct program, and she took precautions."

John's brows go up. "The old captain? Weir was getting rid of her competition, wasn't she? When she copied your...I mean when she put you in there." He nods his head awkwardly at her. He's not sure what makes him change his wording, but he can't bring himself to be too brutal with her.

"Yes," Fran says. The flatness of her tone reveals as much as it conceals, but John shakes off the thought as Fran continues. "Your Dr. Weir is an excellent liar. My counterpart was entirely unsuspecting, which gave Dr. Weir an enormous advantage."

"Kind of Machiavellian," John says before he can stop himself, which earns him a cool glance.

"A human talent, then," she says after a beat, moving to Rodney's side. John watches her with narrowed eyes, but she just bats Rodney's hand away and then presses a sequence of buttons.

She presses one final button before meeting John's eyes. "There. Check it, if you like."

"No. I trust you, Fran," Rodney says slowly, his expression gone thoughtful.

Her lips tighten, almost too quickly to notice, and then she gestures at the console. "You may start your sequence now."

Rodney nods, and it's not long before he's placing his hand deliberately onto a shiny metal plate that's set into the console, something John would have assumed was purely decorative. He holds his breath, but the results are anticlimactic; Rodney must have muted the noisy countdown he'd been half-expecting.

"Go, go, go," Rodney's yelling then, and John moves too fast, the ache in his chest flaring hot and bright. "We've got ten minutes," he hears through the momentary breathlessness.

Fran hesitates as they move past her, and John finds himself grabbing her hand on the way out. He ignores the sudden brightening of her expression when Rodney takes her other hand.

John's itching to run, but they can't afford carelessness now. They creep through the hallways, and Rodney's looking increasingly freaked out. John wonders if it's just the usual death-defying escape sort of panic, or if this is a special _my best friend just had his tongue in my mouth_ sort of panic.

He shakes his head to try to clear it, because the here and now is tough enough. There are a million different things that can go wrong before they ever see home again, and it's a pretty sad commentary on his life in Pegasus that the threat of imminent death isn't enough to keep his thoughts occupied in the first place.

And hey, if they both end up dead, then at least John doesn't ever have to actually talk about the kissing thing, or god forbid, what he's _feeling_.

Then he thinks maybe the tension and unrelenting ache in his ribs might be making him a little morbidly punchy.

They're still nowhere near the lifeboat bay when Fran seems to pick up something completely off John's radar. She freezes, and then makes John's heart rate shoot through the roof when she shoves them through an unmarked door.

"What's going on?" Rodney says breathlessly. She lays a finger over her lips.

The warning is unnecessary, because they can all now hear the thud of heavy footfalls outside. He and Rodney exchange wide-eyed glances. John fights back the rising tension, pasting on what he hopes is a slow, easy smile. The wait ticks by, minutes that feel like hours, and John's forcing himself not to look at his watch every few seconds.

"They've gone," Fran says finally, and John's sigh of relief is echoed by Rodney's. Rodney smirks at John, his lips red and chapped from nervously biting at them.

_Rodney's lips on his, rough and warm and wet_, and it goes right to John's gut. His face goes hot, and he has to look away, and he really shouldn't be looking at Rodney's mouth if he wants to stay focused.

Rodney nudges him sharply with an elbow, rolling his eyes at John when he looks over. _Get a grip,_ although Rodney himself is looking a little flushed.

John blows out a rueful sigh, and he can see Rodney stifling a laugh. Fran triggers the door mechanism, and their shoulders are touching when they head out into the corridor.

They're within sight of the bank of lifeboats when Fran starts to withdraw. When John glances over, her face has gone remote and a little resigned, and it's maybe her most human expression yet. It gets him where he lives, and he knows she's expecting to be left behind. It's inevitable, in a logical world. Left alone to die, the sole defender of her human creators, and he feels something tighten inside.

Rodney's eyes are on him, wide and blue and worried, and John's chest hurts suddenly. His ribs catch until they throb, and he knows he's about to do something very, very stupid. He grabs onto Fran's hand before he's thought his sudden impulse through.

"Come with us," he blurts out, and the sensible part of him is flabbergasted. _This is officially the stupidest thing you've ever done._

Because it really is. She's a ticking time bomb, a Dr. Jekyll hiding a Mr. Hyde who wants to kill them all. The smart thing to do is to leave her here. The catch--the big, stupid catch--is that the smart thing doesn't feel like the right thing.

_Leave no one behind,_ and somehow she's snuck over the border between _them_ and _us_, and this is the kind of shit that used to give his COs nightmares.

As it is, Rodney's giving him a look of disbelief. He's not protesting though, not Rodney, the man who made her, who named her, who has a soft spot for her a mile wide.

It's insane, but something in John won't let him do anything else. "Fran," he says more firmly. "Come with us."

It startles her, her head snapping around, as if she hadn't heard him the first time. Her eyes are sad and dark when she looks at him. "You are very kind, Colonel Sheppard. Very kind."

Fran's herding them to one of the lifeboats as she speaks, her movements rough and hurried. Rodney triggers the hatch, which opens with a hiss. A yellow emergency light clicks on, washing the capsule's interior with a dim illumination.

Rodney motions them into the capsule, a quick sort of _after you_ gesture towards Fran. There's a long pause. Fran remains silent, her head tilted as if she's listening to something they can't hear.

"I thank you again, Colonel Sheppard," she says, and there's something in her voice John can't quite decipher. "And I am sorry for this."

She's coming at them, faster than human, a darting movement towards Rodney. _Attack_, John's instincts flare bright and hot, and he's moving forward without a thought.

But she's not trying to hurt Rodney, far from it. Her hands go up to frame his face, her mouth, _christ_, her mouth finding Rodney's and latching on, clumsy and desperate.

"Umph." Rodney sounds startled and plaintive, his good hand sliding between their bodies.

But before Rodney can push her away, almost as soon as the kiss begins, Fran ends it, pulling back. Her eyes don't leave Rodney's, a stare that makes John ache inside. It's rousing all sorts of conflicting things inside him; he wants to break their tableau, but something's holding him back, makes him give her this moment.

"Just once." It's almost matter-of-fact, in Fran's quietest voice, and then she's shoving them into the lifeboat. John resists instinctively. He's never taken to being pushed around. But her inhuman strength and speed overwhelm them both, and she practically throws them into the capsule. They both end up on their ass, and Rodney makes a pained sound as John untangles them.

"Fran, no," Rodney says, when her hand darts for the hatch closure, but she doesn't even pause.

And then, as the hatch begins to close in front of him, John sees what's driving Fran's haste, her desperation. Over her shoulder, there's movement at the end of the corridor.

It's Weir, moving fast and stealthy as any predator. She's almost unrecognizable, her expression a scary blankness. John catches only a glimpse, but there's no trace of anything human in Weir's face as she rushes towards them.

Fran whirls to face Weir, her hands coming up defensively--and then the hatch slides shut in front of his eyes, blocking his view.

John stares blankly at the dark oxidized metal, stunned. "Wait," he says, pounding uselessly on the hatch. It's too little, too late, because he can feel and hear their connection to the ship breaking loose.

"The sequence is automatic," Rodney yells. He's sitting at the lifeboat's stripped-down version of a cockpit, his good hand ghosting rapidly over the controls. "John, you need to get strapped in. This thing's got nothing, no gravity, no inertial dampeners."

Reinforcing Rodney's warning is a jolting vibration that rattles John's teeth. The rockets fire before he can respond, and he's slammed into a console.

"Ow." It comes out breathless and weak, because he's managed to bang his ribs _again_.

"Damn it, John," Rodney snaps, worry morphing into irritation in a predictably Rodney way.

The familiarity is sort of comforting, even as John grimaces. "It's not that bad." It comes out weaker than he likes, and he stifles a wince as he presses a hand gingerly against his side. He gets his other hand wrapped around a handhold, fighting the acceleration that's trying to press him into the bulkhead behind him.

The safety of the chair is still well out of reach when their time runs out.

"Watch out," Rodney bellows, fear sharp in his voice. In the same moment, the lone porthole flares brilliant white, and John has a numb second before he realizes that it's an explosion, time's up. Weir's ship is going, going, gone, self-destructing.

_Oh, shit,_ is John's last coherent thought before something hits them like a giant hammer. He can't hold on, he's going down, and that's the last thing he knows before everything goes black.

***

When John surfaces from the darkness, it's to a headache so bad he feels like puking and Rodney, his good hand skating over John's chest and neck, careful and fluttery as a bird.

Rodney's words are in contrast to the delicate touch. "Wake up, you son of a bitch. If you die on me, I'll kill you myself," he says, his voice cracking.

John wants to point out just how nonsensical that last bit is, but he can only manage a weak laugh. "I'm okay," he says, but before Rodney can respond, the buzz of the radio distracts them.

"Lifeboat occupants, identify yourselves." It sounds like Ellis, at his most stiff and officious, and it's the best thing John's heard in a long time. Ever since they'd had to split the team, their fate had been a nagging worry, forcibly pushed to the back of his mind. Only now can he finally start to relax.

Rodney turns toward the controls, and John can hear him flipping switches. "Finally," Rodney says into the radio, and John can hear the relief threaded through impatience. "McKay and Sheppard here. Sheppard tried to bash his brains out over here so if you could hurry it up, that'd be great."

"You're welcome, Dr. McKay." Ellis' dry-as-dust tone has Rodney rolling his eyes. "We'll have you in a jiffy."

Rodney's mouthing the word _jiffy_ at John when the radio crackles to life again.

"You'd think all that hair would cushion his skull." It's Ronon, breaking radio protocol, but John wants to grin.

"You're one to talk, Conan," Rodney shoots back. "Teyla?" he adds in a more sober tone.

"I am well, Rodney. It is good to hear your voice." Teyla's voice is low and calm, but there's depth of feeling peeking through: she rarely uses Rodney's first name on missions.

"We'll see you soon enough." Ellis cuts through the chatter, but he doesn't seem impatient. In fact, John would swear he's trying not to laugh. "Over and out."

Rodney swivels back towards John, wincing as he crouches down beside John's shoulder. He closes his eyes as Rodney reaches down to touch his forehead.

"Strap in, I tell you. But you never listen. Moron." Rodney's shaky fingers brush over John's temple, terrifyingly gentle. They flinch away from the hot wet trickle that's dripping down annoyingly close to his ear.

"Love you, too, Rodney." John's going for easy and flippant, but it comes out more serious than he'd intended.

Rodney starts, his hand clamping down on John's shoulder in that strong grip of his. He lets out a little huff of breath, relief and annoyance mixed together. "That's the concussion talking."

"Maybe," John says, and even with a head like a three-day hangover, he has to keep the smile out of his voice.

Rodney hears it anyway. "Asshole," he says, but it sounds fond. "I don't tinker about with my sexuality for just anyone, you know. Not since grad school, at least, and after eighty-three hours straight in the lab even Nathan Ackermann starts to look good."

There's a long silence, and then he can hear Rodney's hard swallow. "Unless that was just...incentive. Back there. And you don't really want--"

John reaches up, fumbles for Rodney's face--and flicks him, hard, on the forehead. "Shut up, Rodney," he whispers.

"Yes, yes, yes," Rodney says, and John has a faint hope that things are all settled. Of course, this is Rodney, who opens his mouth again. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm really bad at this."

John says nothing, and there's a pregnant pause during which he just looks at Rodney.

Something shifts in Rodney's eyes, a flicker of amusement and something more, but John knows better than to expect Rodney, who'll talk about everything, everything except what really matters to him, to talk about this.

In the end, Rodney just snorts. "Then again, so are you."

The lifeboat hums around them, and John lets out a laugh that's a little rueful. He has to look away from Rodney's face just then. There's too much naked hope and need, too much that's vulnerable. Rodney's never been good at hiding anything, and John's got a history of hurting people he's close to.

He catches sight of the porthole. It frames a view of deep space, velvet darkness and icy points of light. In the middle of all the emptiness is an expanding debris field--all that's left of Weir's ship. Nothing left but hard vacuum and ash, almost peaceful.

Peaceful but cold, and it seems like there should be more to remember what they had to do, of who they had to leave behind. After that, it's not hard to meet Rodney's eyes again. Not hard at all.

"We'll just have to be bad at it together, then," he hears himself say. His hand reaches for Rodney's, and their fingers lace together.

They wait for their pickup, holding on tight, tired and aching, but at peace.


End file.
